


into me, see?

by alykapedia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: Like many things in Sylvain's life, this happens at his father's behest.(Or: In which Sylvain is pre-bonded to Felix and every day is a lesson in wanting.)
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 167
Kudos: 418





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Felix, and Sylvain's already promised to live and die with him, so what's one more promise between the two of them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UM so i've had this idea for the longest time now and never really...worked on it because i was like,,,whoo boy,, fully entrenched in this trope back in my previous fandom BUT THE HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS  
> this really doesn't have a fleshed out,,anything,,and will mostly be just me, sprinkling in abo dynamics to make things spicy
> 
> warning (ig?): nothing underage happens here (hence me not tagging for it) but it's touched on a little bit (mostly in the sense that sylvain REFUSES to think about felix that way) but if that makes u uncomfy, feel free to ollie out. take care of yourselves, people!!

Like many things in his life, this happens at his father's behest. And maybe if it had been anyone else, Sylvain would chafe more, resent the omega being forced upon him, but it's Felix. It's Felix, who presents a week after he helps suppress a rebellion, who's miserable and traumatized by it still. It's Felix, who's always seen Sylvain as he is, who has never cared about his family name or crest, who has owned a piece of Sylvain's heart ever since they were children.

It's _Felix_ , and Sylvain's already promised to live and die with him, so what's one more promise between the two of them?

"It's different," Felix grits out, sullenly picking at the bandage on his neck that's covering the pre-bond bite—Sylvain's claim on him.

The matching mark on his neck itches, but Sylvain ignores it in favor of reaching out for Felix's hands, pulling them away from his neck before he does himself any damage, and bringing them down to his lap. "It's really not."

.

Months pass and life goes on, and Sylvain almost forgets about the fact that he's been pre-bonded, if not for the small chest that arrives from Fraldarius territory a day before his rut finally starts. He's been irritable for days now, anger simmering low in his stomach along with an unbearable heat that prickles at his skin. When Sylvain opens the chest, the discomfort practically melts away—like snow in the summer sun—as he's hit by the familiar scent of pine needles and the blue roses that grew only in the Fraldarius hothouses, as well as something that reminds Sylvain of warm, summer days and—oh.

 _Oh_. 

Felix.

He means to stuff the blankets—Felix's blankets, and _oh goddess_ , they smell so much like him—back in the chest, means to throw it out into the hallway never to be seen again. Because it was—it was a breach of Felix's trust. Sylvain can’t— _no_ —he refuses to use him like this. But Sylvain can't bring himself to, and instead finds himself burying his face into the sheets and breathing in deep, letting Felix's scent lull him into something approaching peace.

(He doesn’t touch himself, not once, doesn’t dare tarnish Felix like that, but Sylvain _wants_.

 _Oh_ , how he wants. 

And it’s only the memory of his father congratulating himself on a job well done of procuring the perfect omega broodmare— _a Fraldarius with a major crest_ —for Sylvain that stays his hand, has him clinging to rationality even as his rut razes through him, setting him ablaze.)

.

One would think that after years of receiving blankets and clothes doused in Felix’s scent, Sylvain would be more than used to it by now, but he’s not. Sylvain thinks nothing at all could’ve prepared him for the full brunt of Felix’s pheromones—unfettered and unbound, without days of travel muting them—and he’s not ashamed at all to say that he nearly falls off his horse when he smells and sees Felix stalking across the stables at Garreg Mach.

As it stands, he still ends up stumbling, suddenly wrong-footed as he takes Felix in. 

The last time Sylvain had seen Felix in person was at their pre-bonding ceremony, when Felix had been fifteen and furious, an angry specter of the boy Sylvain promised his life to, and Sylvain, seventeen and savvy to his father’s plans, had not allowed himself to think of him as anything more than a beloved childhood friend, even as he sank his teeth into the mating gland on Felix’s neck. But now here Felix stands, prettier and far more precious than anyone who’s ever thrown themselves at him, and the desire that Sylvain has long tried to ignore and suppress, blazes into an inferno, leaving him breathless at the intensity of it.

“Is that my cloak?” He asks in greeting as his eyes catch on the Gautier crest emblazoned on the clasp hanging over Felix’s collar. There are a million things he means to say, but they’re all forgotten in favor of staring dumbly at the familiar green cloak hanging off of Felix’s shoulders.

Felix flushes, cheeks flaring a violent red. “Yes,” he bites out, one hand coming up to clutch protectively at the fabric. “Do you want it back?” 

Sylvain almost says yes, if only so he can stuff it under his pillow later, but he shakes his head, frantic. “No, no, it’s yours,” he croaks, mouth dry, and asks, with his heart stuck firmly in his throat, “Do you want me to scent it?” 

The question hangs heavy between them, and Sylvain would be embarrassed at the way his scent thickens in the air, but he’s too busy watching the way Felix’s eyelashes lower and kiss his burning cheeks as he nods, once, twice. 

“Only if you want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: academy phase shenanigans. maybe. byleth did not sign up for babysitting hormonal brats but here we are.
> 
> pls validate me jaksdhjkadsh


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to do that,” Felix says quietly, and it’s the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ugly laughter* sylvain you're so stupid

“Sorry, I’m already pre-bonded,” he says, not feeling particularly sorry, especially when Felix stiffens up beside him, mouth pulling into a scowl that Sylvain finds himself echoing as the fourth faceless girl in a week approaches him.

If Sylvain had a piece of gold every time he’s had to say those words, he’d be buying out the tea merchant’s supply of Almyran pine needles just like the professor does every single week. It’s annoying, really, how much he’s had to tell people that he’s already spoken for when he’s made no secret of it—pre-bond mark showing clearly through his open collar and scent so firmly intertwined with Felix’s that Ashe can’t even look at them without blushing. A part of him knows he should be more discreet, bondings aren’t things one shows off after all, but he can’t help it, not when Felix is letting him.

Until he’s not. 

The sudden disappearance of Felix’s scent is like a sucker punch, and Sylvain immediately feels bereft at the loss, turning wide eyes at Felix, who’s taut with so much tension Sylvain’s afraid he’ll shatter if he so much as breathes at him. “Fe?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Felix says quietly, and it’s the beginning of the end. 

Sylvain blinks, trepidation pooling low in his stomach as he begins to parse through Felix’s meaning. “Do what?” 

“It’s fine if you want to—” Felix starts only to falter, meeting his eyes for half a heartbeat before his gaze flits away. “I mean, this entire thing was decided by our fathers,” he continues and Sylvain’s stomach lurches at the implication, at the way Felix’s shoulders draw tight.

“Felix, I don’t want any of those girls.” He hasn’t wanted anyone, not really, not until Felix. “I haven’t—I haven’t even looked at anyone else ever since we got pre-bonded.” 

“Oh.” 

“But if _you_ want to,” he trails off, not even capable of completing the thought because just the idea of Felix being with anyone else makes him sick, but if it’s what Felix wants then—

“No! No, I don’t—” Felix hisses, shaking his head, and for a moment Sylvain thinks that’s the end of it, but then Felix adds, vehemence coloring his tone, “I don’t want _anyone_ ,” and Sylvain’s heart drops to his stomach. 

.

Sylvain holds on to those words when Felix goes into heat a week later.

It’s already hard having to hold back from touching Felix ever since Felix revealed that he doesn’t want him, but it gets even harder still when Felix’s preheat starts, his scent turning sweeter and more lush, making Sylvain lose his head with a single whiff until he’s growling at Annette, of all people, and Ingrid and Dimitri have to bodily throw him into the pond to calm him down.

It’s been two days since, two days of locking himself in his room, two days of glaring at himself in the mirror, two days of telling himself over and over again that Felix does not want anyone, least of all him. It’s been two days and it’s only now that Sylvain deems himself strong enough to make his way to the monastery’s heat rooms. 

“Sylvain.” 

The look that the Professor gives him when he rounds the corner could have turned a lesser man to stone, and if this had been any other situation, Sylvain would have strategically retreated, but he’s a man on a mission, and not even the threat of the Professor's sword is enough to cow him. “I just came up to bring these,” he says, holding up the bundle of clothes and blankets in his arms when the Professor’s hand starts to inch closer to the hilt of her sword. “No funny business, I swear, Professor.” 

“Five minutes,” she says before knocking on Felix’s door—two quick raps of her knuckles—and stalking out towards the small entrance hall.

The door opens a sliver, but it’s enough for Felix’s heat scent to waft out into the hallway and it’s all Sylvain can do to stay upright as the door opens even further, revealing a disheveled Felix who’s— _oh_ —wearing one of Sylvain’s shirts and nothing else, and-- _fuck_ \--this was a terrible idea. “Thought these might help,” he manages to croak out, keeping his eyes trained on Felix’s forehead.

But then Felix is leaning in close, closer than he needs to be to get the mess of clothes and blankets in Sylvain’s arms, baring the inflamed mating gland on his throat and whispering, “ _Syl_ ,” more potent than any siren song. And Sylvain _wants_ —wants to press Felix against the door and see if he tastes as good as he smells, wants to be invited to his nest, wants to take care of him so that Felix wants for nothing.

“I have to go,” Sylvain forces himself to say after a small eternity, even though nearly every iota of his being is telling him to stay, to fit his mouth around the mark on Felix’s neck and claim him once and for all. He clings instead to the tiny part of his brain that’s yelling at him to go, because none of _this_ matters unless Felix consents and asks Sylvain to stay.

And Felix doesn’t.

Because Felix doesn’t want _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: even more stupidity, felix version.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix remembers the first time a chest had arrived, remembers throwing it out of his room in a rage, before shamefully dragging it back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to do a felix pov at some point bc BOY OH BOY SYLVAIN'S AN UNRELIABLE NARRATOR (felix is too, but shhh)
> 
> no beta we die like glenn

Felix hates being in heat.

He hates the entire harrowing ordeal—hates losing control, hates feeling weak, hates the embarrassing throb between his thighs, hates the yawning emptiness inside him needing to be filled. Hates feeling like he’s only half a person somehow, just a vessel, a _broodmare_ waiting to be bred. And as if to spite him even further, to get back at him for hating it, his traitorous body decides that every heat he has, is and will be terrible.

From the moment he presents—fresh off suppressing a rebellion and watching their future king slaughter innocents, blood still drying on his hands—until now, his heats are wretched things, and the only thing that have been able to soothe them, douse the fire burning through Felix’s veins, had been the chest stuffed with Sylvain’s clothes arriving from Gautier like clockwork every time his heats started.

He remembers the first time a chest had arrived, remembers throwing it out of his room in a rage, before shamefully dragging it back in and emptying its contents on his bed when his heat had proved too much for him to handle. Sylvain’s cloak had smelled of pine needles and bergamot, familiar and comforting, cooling the fire in his belly and easing the aching core of him more effectively than any of the potions and concoctions the healers had gotten him to drink.

And with Sylvain at the Academy, Felix had thought things were looking up, especially since Sylvain’s been sticking to him like a particularly persistent bur. It had been annoying at first, a part of Felix bristling at the treatment _because he’s not one of Sylvain’s girls_. But Sylvain never pushes, not once, doesn’t do anything more than scent the air around Felix or offer him his jacket, and only ever after Felix gives him express permission to do so, and it’s good. It’s great. It’s better than the resentment he’d long expected, because this entire thing was their fathers’ idea, and Felix had thought—

_Well._

It doesn’t matter what he’d thought because Sylvain starts inexplicably pulling away a week before his heat, and now Felix is here, stuck in a _heat room_ , stinging from Sylvain’s rejection and stewing in his own shame. He should’ve known better than to think Sylvain would ever want him back.

He almost wants to throw the bundle of clothes and blankets away, along with the nest he’d made out of Sylvain’s shirts and blankets, on the bed, because it’s— _cruel_ . For Sylvain to court him over the course of the past few moons, only to suddenly leave after Felix bares his throat for him, _hurts_.

And now Felix is burning, his heat a raging inferno threatening to destroy him from the inside out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all these two idiots need to talk bc felix is out there getting mixed signals and sylvain's still over there twiddling his thumbs waiting for a written invitation i hate them
> 
> next time: sylvain goes into rut, and absolutely nothing is resolved


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fe,” Sylvain slurs against the hollow of Felix’s throat, “I think I’m going into rut.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i mentioned how stupid they are? because they are. so very stupid.

The thing is, Sylvain knows what a rut feels like. 

He’s had more than his fair share of them ever since he’d presented as an alpha, and so he knows the signs, knows what to look for, and knows what to do to prepare for them before rut hormones start to flood his blood and cloud his head. He’s gotten good at controlling himself during them too, and aside from the chest of Felix’s clothes he receives every few months, he’s never needed much in the way of the usual draughts and suppressants catered to alphas, his own self-control enough to stop him from doing anything he’d regret.

But this rut takes him by surprise, blindsides him completely, catches him off-guard, and it’s not until he’s growling and rushing at Dorothea—who’s _just_ a beta but had the audacity to put a hand on _Sylvain’s omega_ , except _not_ , because _Felix isn’t his omega_ , Felix is his own person and _Sylvain has no right to him even though they have each other’s marks_ —his head a mess of instinct and what’s left of his rationality, that Sylvain even notices that something is _very, very wrong_.

“ _Sylvain_ ,” Felix says, bringing him back to reality with a hand on his arm and another on the back of his neck, pulling him down so he can press his face into the crook of Felix’s throat where his scent—pine needles and blue roses—is strongest. “Syl,” he says again, and the nickname knocks something loose inside Sylvain, rendering him pliant in Felix’s arms.

“Fe,” he slurs against the hollow of Felix’s throat, even as he drags his wrists steadily and surely against every part of Felix he can reach. “I think I’m going into rut.”

Felix lets out a strained laugh. “Yeah, no shit.” He shifts, hands abandoning their grip on Sylvain’s arm and neck, and Sylvain can’t help the whine that he makes at that. “You’re stinking up the entire classroom.”

And there’s a part of Sylvain that knows why that’s bad, but it’s buried underneath the need to make sure that Felix smells only of him. He can’t even remember why he’d stopped scenting Felix in the first place, and now Felix doesn’t smell enough like him, and Sylvain _hateshateshates_ it because he can’t have people thinking that they can just—

“Felix,” someone calls out, and Sylvain sees red because it smells like another alpha and then—Sylvain’s breathing in a lungful of Felix’s scent as Felix once again drags him back down, grounding him, anchoring him to the shore as his thumb digs into the mating gland on Sylvain’s neck that bears his incomplete mark.

“Sylvain, hey, look at me,” Felix says and Sylvain _does_. And the sight of him, wide-eyed and frantic and _scared_ , hits Sylvain right in the chest and his head clears just enough for a horrified realization to set in. “It’s just Ingrid.”

“ _Shit_.” Because it _is_ Ingrid and Sylvain knows her scent, and he knows she’s not a threat. “It’s not—it’s not normally like this,” he whispers, because he doesn’t want Felix to think that he’s some mindless animal, doesn’t want him to think that he can’t trust Sylvain anymore. “It’s worse than usual.”

Felix startles at that, an expression flitting across his face as if he knows exactly what Sylvain means, before he’s pulling back and saying, “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

.

Sylvain’s not entirely sure how Felix manages to get him back to his room without any more incident, but he does, and the next thing he knows, Sylvain’s sinking into his bed, Felix’s vest pressed to his face as he willfully ignores Felix leaving. And it would’ve been more than fine if Felix just left him like that—Sylvain doesn’t deserve anything more than this from Felix, after all—but Felix comes back after a few minutes bearing blankets and clothes, and _oh_ —

“Thanks,” Sylvain manages when Felix piles the mess of blankets and clothes on his bed, and it’s shameful, embarrassing to have Felix take care of him like this, when Sylvain should have built a bower for him instead. Except Felix wouldn’t want that, Sylvain reminds himself, because Felix doesn’t want him and this is Felix _just being kind, doing his duty_ to Sylvain and nothing more.

“What else do you need?”

_You_ , Sylvain doesn’t say, swallowing down the saliva flooding his mouth. “There’s a vial in my bedside table. Can you—” he trails off, watching as Felix rifles through the mess inside the drawer and comes back holding out a small, clear vial for him to take.

Sitting down on the edge of Sylvain’s bed, Felix asks, “What is that?”

“Sleeping draught.” A failsafe, a last resort. He’d bought it on the way to Garreg Mach, far away from his father’s prying eyes. “It should knock me out for the duration of my rut.” The apothecary had warned him repeatedly of the side-effects, but Sylvain would rather deal with nausea and vomiting and what-have-yous than lose control, especially with Felix around.

Because as much as he wants to think that he can control himself, what happened earlier proves otherwise. As it is, it’s taking everything for him not to push Felix down, especially when Sylvain can _smell_ just how much his rut pheromones are affecting Felix, his musk thickening in the air. 

“Is that safe?” Felix ventures, a worried slant to his mouth, before he inches forward, leaning in close so that Sylvain can peek down his shirt to see how his nipples have hardened into nubs. “I can just…stay with you.”

Every single part of Sylvain wants to say _yesyesyes_ , wants to pull Felix onto his lap and sink inside him, wants to knot him and pump him full with seed until he’s dripping with it, wants to fill his belly with an entire litter—

“No!” He yells, reeling back as his stomach turns, because he can’t. _He can’t._ Because Felix doesn’t want him like that, and it’s just his rut pheromones getting to Felix, getting to them both, and it falls to Sylvain to put a stop to this. “No, I don’t want—” _you to do anything you don’t want to do_.

“ _Syl_.”

“Please go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry felix


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It stings; worse than a flesh wound, lancing across his chest, just short of a fatal blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have noT forgotten about this sjdhjkh my brain just kinda signed off + ive been sprinting for the sylvix bigbang and ya boi ran out of words
> 
> just a short continuation of the last chapter and some UHH escalation on felix's part so yyeah

Ingrid's waiting for him when he stumbles out of Sylvain's room.

And it's obvious with the way she immediately looks him over, green eyes assessing as they go over his disheveled form that she’s expecting the worst; expecting that Sylvain had taken his _liberties_ from Felix, when _that_ would never happen. Could never happen. Because Sylvain doesn’t want Felix. Because even rut-addled and teetering on the edge of a _rage_ , Sylvain has turned him away, would rather take some strange potion than spend his rut with Felix.

It stings; worse than a flesh wound, lancing across his chest, just short of a fatal blow.

“Felix, are you alright? Did Sylvain—”

Another time and he would be hissing at Ingrid to mind her own business. Would be spitting that just because she’s an alpha doesn’t mean she can stick her nose where it doesn’t belong, coddle him like he’s a sniveling child, but Felix is still smarting from Sylvain’s rejection, so he lets her be, taking comfort in her presence and scent for the first time in years.

“I’m fine,” he lies, and the words are ash on his tongue. “And no, he didn’t do anything because he doesn’t want me.” It hurts to say the words out loud even though he knows them to be true, because Felix _wants_ , a bone-deep desire that has liquid heat dripping down his thighs, primal and base. But more than that, more than the instinctual pull he feels towards Sylvain, Felix wants to take care of Sylvain, to offer whatever comfort he can, to be a safe harbor the way Sylvain has always been for him.

Ingrid scoffs, nose wrinkling at the remnants of Sylvain’s pheromones still hanging in the air. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the monastery knows how much Sylvain wants you with how he’s stinking up the place,” she says, self-assured in her knowledge, and Felix has to grit his teeth because that’s what he’d thought too and look at him now—rejected for the second time in a row.

“Ingrid, Sylvain would rather take some strange sleeping draught than let me help.” Felix hadn’t wanted to tell her. It’s embarrassing to admit it. But he knows Ingrid well enough to know that she’ll push and push, insist that she’s right, and Felix is tired. “He doesn’t want me that way,” he repeats, every word making him ache, and he doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, but it’s enough to make Ingrid subside.

“Do you—do you need anything?”

Felix needs Sylvain to want him as much as Felix wants him, but he’s pretty sure that’s not what Ingrid means, not to mention beyond her abilities, so he blinks away the wetness in his eyes and shakes his head.

“No.”

.

Something shifts.

A schism forms and grows between them each and every day, and Felix tells himself that it’s fine, that pulling away is the best course of action. Tells himself that it’s for the best as he avoids Sylvain and throws himself to his training more than ever. And he’s only proven right when another heat arrives, and this time, Sylvain doesn’t even bother showing up to the heat rooms himself, just has Mercedes bring him a basket of blankets and clothes that Felix doesn’t take.

 _“Tell him I don’t need it,_ ” he remembers hissing, even as the heat ravages through him. _“I don’t want his scent anywhere near me.”_ Felix knows that it’s petty—a needless revenge that only hurts him and makes his heat worse than ever as he tries to weather it through sheer will alone.

By the time he’s well enough to go back to class, he’s made up his mind and sends a letter to his father. Felix will break their pre-bond and free Sylvain from this responsibility, this _burden_ that he obviously doesn’t want. His father is confused at his request, but doesn’t protest and only says that he will support whatever Felix decides _as long as you’re sure that this is what you truly want_.

It’s _not_ , but it’s what Sylvain wants, and that’s enough for him.

But before he can talk to Sylvain about any of it, war comes to Garreg Mach, and the entire world goes to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: a timeskip + the margrave being a generally terrible person


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit,” Felix says somewhere to his left and Sylvain can’t help but echo the sentiment, because he knows, with a bone-deep certainty he wishes he didn’t have, what spell he’d been hit with—a fucking _love bomb._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said i bumped up the porn to this chapter but uHHH i ran out of steam and good juju im sorry
> 
> but hey new chapter yay

“You still haven’t bred the Fraldarius boy?”

The terrible thing is that Sylvain’s not even surprised by the question. Truth be told, he’s been expecting it, and Sylvain wonders how long the Margrave has been itching to ask the question point-blank without any of the prevarications he attempts in his letters. Of course, knowing that the Margrave will ask _this_ particular question doesn’t stop the rage that simmers low in his belly, nor does it stop his lips from pulling back in a snarl, and it’s really all Sylvain can do not to haul the Margrave away from where he’s looking out the window to the courtyard below where Felix is waiting with their horses.

“We’re at war,” he grits out, nails digging into the meat of his palms, the pain grounding him. He knows better than to lose his temper—to show emotion is to show weakness—but Sylvain almost does when he sees the covetous glint in the Margrave’s eyes.

And suddenly, Sylvain’s reminded how after their pre-bonding ceremony, the Lord Rodrigue has never allowed Felix to spend the night at Castle Gautier, always hurrying him back to Fraldarius during the rare chances Felix tagged along.

He remembers chalking it off to the Duke Fraldarius not trusting _him_ , but it’s becoming horribly and terribly clear at this very moment that _it’s not Sylvain the Duke doesn’t trust_ as the Margrave says, tone insidious and dark, “Which is exactly why you should have gotten a litter in him while you were at Garreg Mach and tied him to you as soon as you graduated.”

Sylvain doesn’t know what he says in reply, or if he even says anything at all, because the next thing he knows, he's hurrying down the main hall and practically running out to the empty courtyard towards Felix. 

Felix, who‘d been on the verge of saying something pithy and scathing, but quickly changes tack as soon as Sylvain comes close. “What’s wrong?” He asks, tone softer than Sylvain’s ever heard it in the past five years. “You don’t have to push yourself,” Felix murmurs, taking his soured mood for fatigue. “We don’t have to leave today.”

“No, we’re leaving." Sylvain’s exhausted, sure, having just come down from the outpost near the Sreng border, but after his conversation with the Margrave and the realization it had brought, he doesn't trust the man to not do anything if they stay even a single night. “We’re not staying here," he says, reaching up to take off his cloak and draping it over Felix’s shoulders, the action so instinctual, so ingrained into muscle memory that it takes him a while to remember that he can’t do that—not anymore, not since Felix’s second heat at the monastery when Felix decided that he doesn’t need nor want Sylvain’s scent anywhere near him. 

"Sylvain,” Felix says, again in that soft voice that makes Sylvain wonder if Felix would use that same tone when he finally asks to break their bond, because that has to be what all the avoidance has been leading towards, right? Sylvain’s no fool, after all, not when it comes to Felix.

But Felix hasn’t asked and Sylvain’s not selfless enough to give up what feels like the last connection they have, so the bond persists, a steady ache on the base of Sylvain’s neck, a persistent pull deep in his heart. “Please," he murmurs, meeting Felix’s eyes for a quick second before he looks down at where his fingers are fumbling at the cloak’s fastenings. The Gautier crest on the clasp stares up at him mockingly, and Sylvain’s just about to give up on it when Felix reaches up and fastens the cloak effortlessly.

“Let’s go.”

.

Their journey towards the Fraldarius homestead goes as well as expected, by which, of course, it _doesn’t_. Because halfway through the forest path they’re taking, he’s dragging Felix down and off his horse as the air crackles with magic and a beam of light slashes across where Felix had been a few seconds ago. And then a spear Sylvain doesn’t even remember reaching for is leaving his hands, hitting the dark mage right in the stomach with a sickening squelch.

Sylvain thinks that’s the end of that but then he’s doubling over, a familiar heat washing over him as he falls to his knees. 

“Shit,” Felix says somewhere to his left and Sylvain can’t help but echo the sentiment, because he _knows,_ with a bone-deep certainty he wishes he didn’t have, what spell he’d been hit with—a fucking _love bomb_. Fucking fantastic. He remembers laughing all those moons ago when Annette had come up with the moniker for the new spell the Empire's mages have rolled out, but he's definitely not laughing now. “Sylvain, you fucking idiot!”

“M’fine.” Because he has to be, because Sylvain can’t give in to this—to this hunger consuming him, that’s telling him to take and stake his claim on Felix right then and there on the forest floor, to fuck him and breed him and make sure he smells like he’s Sylvain’s and no one else’s—but he's quickly forgetting _why_ , brain turning to mush as his control crumbles to dust.

Felix is saying something, Sylvain thinks blearily, but he only catches the delightful tail end of a threat “—kill you if you’re not—” because Felix is crowding him in against a tree, _scent filling Sylvain’s lungs, seeping into his skin and mixing with his blood_ — “Stay here.”

“Can’t really go anywhere like this, Fe.” 

Not when Sylvain feels like he’s burning up, cock hard and leaking in his smallclothes. He can already feel the beginnings of a knot forming, and Sylvain knows he’s grasping at straws thinking he can will this away, but he bites at the inside his cheeks until he tastes blood and digs his fingers into his thighs, stubbornly holding on to the pain even as pleasure laps at his feverish skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: felix takes one (or two maybe ten) for the team


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Except Sylvain is shaking his head, stubborn to the last, letting out a strangled laugh and looking as if he’d rather die than fuck Felix. 
> 
> “Fe, I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAA this thing fought me so much i nearly gave up hahaha but here we are!! 
> 
> v slight dubcon-ish(?) warning: sylvain gets induced to go into rut and felix takes matters into his own hands because sylvain would rather die than force himself on (a willing) felix. their perceptions on what each other wants play a lot into it, but otherwise it's nothing really terrible. (i hope). BUT THEN AGAIN, your mileage may vary!! pls take care of yourselves! 
> 
> no beta, we die like glenn (who cameos briefly in a flashback!)

The good news is that, even without interrogating the dark mage, it doesn’t take Felix long to figure out what spell Sylvain’s been hit with. He probably didn’t even need to approach the woman—who’d laughingly gasped, “ _ have fun with your beast, little omega _ ,” before bleeding to her death—because Sylvain and his body do it for him. 

The bad news is that Sylvain’s in an induced rut—a bad one, by the looks and smell of it—and they’re smack dab in the middle of the wilderness between Gautier and Fraldarius.

Felix is already wet, the space between his thighs swollen and throbbing, aching and eager to be fucked and filled. He has suppressants stashed away in his pack, but they’re useless against a  _ love bomb _ spell, especially one so potent and powerful that even Felix is reeling at its effects, and he’s not the one who was hit with it.

He really shouldn’t be calling it  _ love bomb _ , especially knowing what it does, but Annette keeps on using the term in her letters and it stuck. And well, Felix supposes that even if the name didn't quite encompass just how sinister the spell’s effects are, it does describe how devastating the spell is—acting just like a bomb and wreaking just as much havoc as one.

Felix takes a bracing breath, then another, letting the frigid air fill his lungs, before making his way back to where Sylvain sits, propped up against a tree. If not for Sylvain’s scent—bergamot and pine and something else, something spicy that Felix can never put his finger on—thickening in the air and chipping away at Felix’s sense and control, he’d think that everything’s fine and Sylvain’s just napping. Of course, everything is  _ not _ fine. Everything hasn’t been fine for a very long time.

As he draws closer, Felix can see the thin sheen of sweat on Sylvain’s brow and the way Sylvain is trembling, practically shaking apart from the effects of the spell. “Sylvain, hey,” he says, crouching down next to Sylvain, careful not to touch him, because Felix’s control is good, but it’s not  _ that _ good. “We have to move. You’ve been hit with a—”

“ _ Love bomb _ , I know,” Sylvain growls and Felix can’t help the whine he lets out, can’t help the way he bares his throat, the mating gland that he’s been ignoring throbbing insistently in response. “ _ Shit _ ,” Sylvain hisses and Felix echoes the sentiment as he feels himself getting slicker, gagging for a knot. “You have to go. If you keep going east, there’s an old hunting cabin—”

“Good, we’ll go there.”

“Felix,  _ no _ .”

The rejection stings—almost as much as the first time, and all the other times after that—but Felix grits his teeth through the pain and stands his ground, because he’ll be damned if he lets Sylvain die from such a stupid reason.

“You know what this spell does.” The  _ love bomb _ works on the mind and body both, Annette had explained, first convincing the body that it was in a heat or a rut, and then affecting the parts of the brain that act as a failsafe, so that the body continues to burn until there’s nothing left, just an empty husk. The only countermeasure their mages have figured out that actually seems to work, is to  _ give in _ to the induced rut or heat and  _ mate _ . Luckily, or unluckily, for Sylvain, he has Felix. “It’s going to burn you up from the inside out if you—I’m not going to let that happen.”

Except Sylvain is shaking his head, stubborn to the last, letting out a strangled laugh and looking as if he’d rather die than  _ fuck Felix _ . “Fe,  _ I can’t _ .”

“Yes, you  _ can _ . I’m consenting, you idiot!” It’s Felix’s turn to growl, crawling into Sylvain’s lap and crowding him further against the tree. “Come  _ on, alpha _ ,” Felix whispers, before crushing their lips together in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, and it’s all he can do to hold on to the last, fraying strand of his control as Sylvain surges up, ravaging him within an inch of his life.

And then Felix pulls back, digs his thumb into the inflamed mark on Sylvain’s neck—hard enough to make Sylvain squirm,  _ hard enough to make sure that Sylvain will give chase _ —and  _ runs _ .

.

_ “I don’t get it,” Felix mumbles against the fabric of Glenn’s cloak as Glenn turns him away from where the mating run has finally culminated. “Why would they run away if they’re just going to let themselves be caught?”  _

_ Glenn laughs, steering them away from the balcony and into the warmth inside. “Tradition,” he answers airily, and Felix pulls back to scowl at him because that’s what everyone always says and Felix doesn’t get it. “But ah—it's to show that even though the omega can run away, they're choosing not to. It shows that when it comes down to it, it's the omega's choice, not the alpha's, that really matters." _

_ "I'll never let myself get caught. Ever,” Felix promises, swears, and is rewarded with Glenn’s blinding smile. He always wins against Dima, Sylvie, and Ingy when they’re playing tag anyway, so it can’t be  _ that _ hard, he thinks.  _

_ "Yeah, well, you don't have to worry about that just yet, Fe-Fe. Maybe you won't even have to." _

.

There’s a stitch in his side by the time he reaches the cabin.

His blood is thrumming, burning in his veins, urging him on, pushing him to keep going, keep running. Felix knows he can, even with the sticky, syrupy heat pulsing insistently under his skin. Even with the throbbing between his thighs and the ache in his legs. He knows he can run far, far away without ever getting caught, but he doesn’t want to. Instead, he slows down to a jog and strolls, almost leisurely, to the cabin, making a point, if only to himself, that he’s choosing this—choosing Sylvain even if Sylvain doesn’t want him. 

He’s barely made it inside, barely has one foot over the threshold before Sylvain comes barreling in. There’s a split-second where Sylvain pauses by the doorway, giving Felix one last out that Felix ignores, instead shrugging out of his coat in defiance.

And then Sylvain is on him, lips, teeth, and tongue pinning him against the nearest flat surface, and this time, Felix doesn’t fight the rush of pleasure pulling him under. He gives himself to it, coiling his arms around Sylvain, and allows himself to burn.

.

Felix wakes up full and aching.

Sylvain is everywhere, in him, around him, a searing hot presence enveloping him entire, swallowing him whole. He’s stretched taut around Sylvain’s knot, stuffed fit to bursting with Sylvain’s spend. He’s sore in places he never even knew existed, but it’s good, it’s perfect—and for the first time in what feels like forever, Felix feels content.

Right here, right now, in Sylvain’s arms, Felix feels safe and wanted.

.

The next time Felix wakes up, he’s all alone. 

He’s not sure why he expected otherwise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sowy felix 
> 
> next chapter: we find out what the fuCK sylvain is thinking(?) leaving felix all alone like that. and big boy emotions are talked about. maybe.


End file.
